


"I will test your metal,"

by Cosmic_Iguana



Category: Dragon's Dogma
Genre: Arguing, Battle, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Sword Fighting, court intrigue, inspiring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Iguana/pseuds/Cosmic_Iguana
Summary: During another pointless ceremony of empty pomp and pride. Julien watches from the sidelines as Aldous introduces the Arisen before the court. Daring anyone present to challenge her and bear witness that Gransys has nought to fear from dreaded Wyrm set to claim their world. Before any can, Julien offers himself. Curiosity getting the better of him, for he wants to see if this famed Arisen can really claim the dragon's life if she cannot even best him at a duel...
Relationships: Arisen/Julien (Dragon's Dogma), Female Arisen/Julien
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	"I will test your metal,"

The court’s air is thick with the stench of wine and delicacies. Intermingling with the light sweat of men draped in protruding, bountiful garments as they try not to struggle against the multitude of hot, burning candles that litter the room giving the court a dim glow. 

Chatter and inane gossip filter the air. Roars of guttural laughter follow closely behind and the vast stonework make even the farthest of noble men seem only an inches away from him. Giving Julien the rather distasteful feeling that no matter how hard he inched himself to the corner of the room he was positively trapped with these men of petty and self-indulgent motivations. That he was to fester with the lot of them in their pits of empty pomp.

He’d rather be back in his office, minding the registers and biding his time for real action to take place. Not sitting around in this hall pretending Gransys and indeed the world is not on the brink of an inevitable destruction. He has no interest in befriending the men of these castle walls. Certainly not make merry and dine with them.

She seems just as uncomfortable as he. Wedging herself behind one of the many columns, handling a chalice of untouched wine as she eyes the court with a shrewd gaze. The Arisen is clearly of lower birth from the way she holds herself and dresses, keeps her head bowed and rarely makes eye contact, looking equally as disinterested as he. Apparently, she had been neglected the knowledge that this was a fine event, demanding elegant wear. For she is adorned in armour that seems to have been picked up randomly and stacked on for practicality during her lengthy travels. A clash of bandit, soldier and rogue cultivating around her figure, worn and wearied from her ventures. Yet it somehow gives her an enigmatic air to her, the armour is not ugly. In fact, Julien found it ruggedly charming. Where his armour was meant to be kept clean and proper, she wore her battles proudly. Standing out amongst the samey cloister of noble men; a woman not be tempered with. Like a chimera sulking in the corner, daring someone to walk up to her.

But she is a chimera on a leash. The Duke’s fingers flicker and click, pulling her to his side. Julien almost wants to scoff. She’s like a greyhound at his heel, and the Duke loves showing off his little elf.

The Duke stands; chest puffed out like some great beast as he commands the room to stillness in a thunderous underbelly. Heads all turn as Julien finds interest in the floor.

“It is moments like this, that remind us how fortunate we are,” Aldous speaks for the Duke, tracing a keen line between the Duke and the onlooking crowd with his eyes. The whole room simultaneously nods and hums in agreement; all too eager to kiss the Duke’s boot. “And it is moments like this, that remind us what it means to be human,”

Aldous turns to the Arisen, who’s name Julien scarcely remembers. He watches her with a quiet attentiveness and can practically see the way her spine tenses under both the Duke’s and Aldous’s gazes. Like she is waiting underneath a storm cloud readying herself to be struck by the bolt. He raises his jewelled chalice; a warped grin contorting his chiselled features as he motions towards her.

“And yet in our midsts, we are accompanied by an elf. People thought to be long since departed from our world, to be extinct,” Aldous says with a grim look. “For the Arisen to be one of them, to have come to us in these dire times. Is testament to the will and strength of those who call Gransys their home, for the elves were thought to be long gone, some would say even mythical. Yet here one is, still standing. No manner of catastrophic event can stomp on the will to live, for that is what makes us human, and elf. This dragon will be no different!” 

There’s an uproar at his boastful lamentations, drinks clink together with mighty boughs of prideful laughter and Julien’s lips press into a thin line. This was all talk, pretty words to inspire the will to ignore the problem and let others handle it. He should have expected Gransys to do this, to get fat on the success of the Duke and treat this like yet another vanquishment when Julien had yet to see the Duke peel himself from his throne. Or even speak for himself.

“Niruin, care to demonstrate your might?” Aldous asks and the Arisen sheepishly recoils. 

“I do not think-”

“Come! Come!” Aldous either didn’t hear her and did not care. He waves his hand towards the crowd, beaming brightly with wine stained lips. “Who would challenge our Arisen to a duel?! See for yourself we have nothing to fear from the dragon!” Aldous seems to be desperately trying to convince himself as well as the crowd.

The Arisen, or Niruin, pinches her nose and visibly stiffens. She seems desperate for the floor to swallow her whole. Not the kind of expression Juline thought to see of the Arisen, but one he can relate to nevertheless.

Curiosity gets the better of him. When she had first appeared in court, adorned with that moronic jester’s hat and a slack-jawed slap across her face, Julien almost kicked her out of the castle himself. This fool claiming to be the Arisen, the one destined to stay the raging heart of the merciless dragon. Then she pried the hat away, and another bout of laughter arose at the sight of her ears, custom crafted to bear a likeness to the mythical elves of old. But then the jokes died, shrivelled away in their throats when she was in fact a living, breathing elf. 

They had not seen an elf...ever. Yet the Arisen was one, a survivor of whatever event had taken her people. She had to be one stubborn woman, and it did all seem like some kind of metaphor; he’d give her that much credit. But all he had seen of her was running errands for Aldous and standing at the Duke’s side to be shown off as his pet elf. 

Julien had not spoken with her. She seemed wary of him for some reason. Perhaps unnerved with people not from her homeland. Julien had no intention of befriending her. Afterall, dealing with the Arisen was Salvation’s and their addled little leader’s role.

Rumours circled that she was the one responsible for all the disruptions Salvation was enduring. Looking at her now Julien wasn’t imposed nor really impressed. A small woman, thin with tanned skin from domesticated days spent farming or fishing or whatever she did back in her home village. Hardly the menace some of the recruits made her out to be. Julien relied on actions to speak for people rather than their appearance or words, which could be so easily manipulated and dressed up. If he was going to become familiar with her, which he doubt would have to if she kept attacking Salvation while he still needed the Cult under his thumb. He would rather it be in battle. Test if she was really a problem or if Salvation was just incompetent.

He wanted to see if the Arisen was indeed powerful enough...

“I’ll test the Arisen’s metal,” He spoke up, ascending from the shadows, gripping his blade tightly. 

The room hummed with an energetic buzz, gaping at the turn of the events. Aldous seemed pleased, turning to his Duke with a smile. But the Duke remained as stoic as ever. 

“You’ve been the talk of the court for some time. I’d like to sate my curiosity,” Julien adds.

She appears shocked at his proposal, blinking at him with a blank expression.  
“Truly Lord, I don’t see the need to prove anything here,” Niruin relents, holding her hands up in defence and her reluctance irks Julien. He expected more from the last elf, from the one who was meant to deliver them from the end. 

“Is the Arisen too fearful that Voldoa will earn a swift victory? Is the little girl worried that I may show her up in front of the court?” Julien retorts, unsheathing his sword menacingly and aiming it at her. “Unless you’re afraid for me to prove just why the elves were wiped out?” Niruin looks evidently frustrated, staring at him as if she was trying to scorch some kind of message into his mind. He merely grins, raising his brow expectantly. She could hardly refuse him in front of all these people, it would only confirm his words.

“Fine, M’lord. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you,” She mutters and crowd cackles at her response. Julien chuckles to himself, only slightly amused. She removes her mottled cape and descends down the stairs. She’s not a warrior, but a ranger or something of the like. A bow is strapped to her back with twin daggers hanging from her thin waist yet she snags a finely crafted sword from one of the guards with effortless grace. Now, this is what Julien expected of the Arisen. 

The crowd gullies spreading into an arena, dissipating with bated breaths as the air turns still, the restrained breath of the world that always followed before an intense battle. She starts by circling him, carefully charting their space with light steps holding her blade even, a perfect horizon. Her form is excellent, calculated and careful, ready to strike and clash steel if he even so much as moved an inch. Julien keeps himself rooted, blade drawn to his side so he can observe her and appear less than ready for her assault. But he’s ready, ready to humiliate this girl - give her a Voldoaa taste she won’t be able to get out.

She’s too careful, anticipating his sudden onslaught like he predicted with an easy deflection but misses him when he’s one step ahead of her dodge; hammers down his sword with exceptional strength that causes her to stagger and press her knee against the hard stone of the floor as she uses her sword like a shield. The flat of his blade presses against her cheek and as she brings them both back up with a mighty push she rolls to the side with kind of the evasive, petty movement of a rogue.

He detests that kind of fighting. Holding back and only delivering shallow and frivolous blows from the shadows. Julien held himself like an actual soldier, basking in the light with no narrow-minded tricks to sway his advantages.

But the shadows won’t help her here, and she does not wield petty kitchen knives.

Julien’s smugness radiates from him, holding himself with carefree confidence, assured by his experience with the sword and her lack of one. He holds his sword like an extension of himself, whereas her arm withers against its weight. 

Julien goes in for another attack, she deflects it once again but this time she barrages him with her own series of attacks, using his stagger as an opening. Jutting her blade towards him hypnotically mimicking how she would hold her daggers - quick, clean and precise. Julien barely has time to bring up his weapon when her second barrage hits him, marvellously handled with her calculated violence trailing behind each swing of her sword. Niruin targets parts of him not heavily armoured, picking at the chainlinks and straps with a dangerous obsession.

She wanted to hurt him. Make him remember her tomorrow with a well planted bruise or scar. 

Finally, Julien thinks. She’s letting her actions speak for her, someone with back bone. Yet, there is something lacking in the way she delivers her blows. As if she was...holding back.

He doesn’t know just how long they’ve been going, but time stretches on as the fight. He’s too lost in the way she handles herself to really care, and too lost trying to overwin her strikes to even worry about their crowd growing bored or not. Their entertainment isn’t what this is about. 

She’s strong, and he was a fool to think someone so apparently thin could not withstand him. Hidden under her armour must be toned muscle, honed from days of extinguishing monsters. He wonders if that’s a deliberate choice, to make her opponents underestimate her. However, Julien senses a hesitance, likeness from the way she seemed reluctant to fight him in the first place. She’s powerful, but something isn’t right.

Even when he tries to deliver a clever blow he thinks she won’t see, it’s like she’s crawled inside his head and picked out each and every intention he has and will make. However, her blows are like pinpricks, her hesitance prevents her from striking him too hard. So, to enrage her more he uses the pommel of his sword and juts it into her face; blood trickling down from the blow. 

And without warning, two, three, four and five hits manage to make him fall back; so he comes charging right back. Hard. 

It’s irritating. She’s capable and yet it’s like there’s a motherly voice in her head telling her to be the bigger person and not hurt him. She can make his whole world spin with her quickness, stagger him into oblivion with well-placed attacks and deflects with the grace of a knight. But something is preventing her from unleashing all her attention. It frustrates him to no end.

He wants her to maim him, scar him and crush him into the ground. For him to be proven wrong against the cold clash of her quick steel. To feel the weight come down on him, bleeding him dry of his doubts that the dragon can be killed. He wants to see if even with all her might she still can’t persevere against him, that even a knight from Voldoa is too much for the Arisen. 

He cares not for her pity or her concern; the dragon certainly won’t. 

Unravelling in their exhaustion, beads of sweat collect like raindrops above their heads. Slickening their skin in wetness - yet they both still stand, determined to keep going. Heaving with abandoned breath. He deflects, she dodges. Julien onslaughts, charges, raids and intrudes upon her like the weight of Grand Soren’s walls. Niruin incurses, skirmishes, blitz and rushes at him with the speed of a griffin but neither actually make any progress in proving their points or defending their honour.

They’re blocked by a stalemate, and it feels like this battle will rage on and on. With no clear victor, doomed to storm at each other forever. She’s as fast as he is strong. Julien charges pathetically towards her and her withering arms barely hold against it. Their blades meet and remain pressed against each other. Julien and Niruin, inches apart, glare at each other as they pant and gasp for air. Her honey eyes look like pieces of amber held against a firelight and his ice-blue ones shimmer like glaciers caught in a malicious blizzard. Her breath fans across his face, her chest now exposed from the lack of a cape heaves against her panting...

There’s a silent understanding shared between them. From the intense way they look at one another Julien’s eyes catch acceptance flash across her face, and in return he nods. They could fight until the end of time and no victor would come out of it. He wants to keep going. Eventually force her to do something drastic and finally prove which of them is the superior fighter. But his limbs grow weary, they shake like leaves in a tree and he might just collapse if he continues.

He then realises, it matters not if she is capable physically. Her heart is not in it. There’s a void where determination and will ought to be...

He isn’t sure how he ought to feel about that personally. Not even he can refuse the fact that she certainly held her own, giving him the slip more than once and made him work for it. A semblance of respect slips into where contempt for her once had. But he knows all he needs to know, that even if she is formidable, she cannot dare hope to defeat the dragon when all that thrives in her heart is numbing doubt.

So maybe, in the end, he won after all. Even if the victory does taste bitter. 

It makes prying away from her easier, he won’t stoop so low to shame her now, kick under her feet and claim his win. They’re equal, and that’s neither enough nor satisfactory for him or the world. But it is what it is. When the Duke thunders a loud “Enough!” and lifts himself from his throne the court is still quiet, shirking away from the tired fighters as they glance up to the Duke. Edmund glowers, sharing a look of indifference equally before the crowd until he slowly makes his way up the stairs to his room.

Julien thinks him and the Arisen may have bored him to the point he had to get some exercise going up the staircase. When Julien looks towards the elongated windows beyond the stairs he sees that the night has shrouded the dusk; basking the castle in a midnight hue.

With that, the lord puts away his sword and finally heads for the exit. He needed to think on this, on what the Arisen had taught him. The doors open and a gust of wind fans across his face delivering him from the heated fires of battle. He marches for the balcony overlooking the main gate, the night’s chill reinvigorating him as he leans over the stone railing. All is quiet, save for the crickets who chirrup away in the rose bushes. 

Just for this moment, Julien clenches his fist and eyes tightly and breathes in the air like it will be the last time. He’s more determined than he has been in his quest. The dissent he wroughts is more relevant than he ever imagined now that he knows just what kind of state Gransys is in. A duke too lazy to lift a finger against the dragon, nobles too afraid to accept the truth and so they hide themselves away in wine and pastries. An Arisen too weak to spare them from the end

Footsteps stammer behind him; Julien feels irritation writhe in his chest, already tired of whatever this noble was going to hammer on about. 

Surprisingly, Julien faces the same honey-glazed pair from before. Dimmer than they once had been, looking upon him with an unreadable expression. 

“I am in no mood for pleasantries,” Julien breaks the silence sharply. Turning to her with a bland expression, hoping the sweat does not betray his bravado. “If you’re looking for congratulations I suggest looking towards your vacant minded Pawns,” 

She doesn’t waver, even though Julien is used to people scurrying off when he uses that tone. And jarringly her expression shifts from thoughtful to snide as if he’s given her an idea for a joke. “You either took a bite out of that god awful cake, in which I sympathise. Or you’re just naturally this pompous,” Her wit catches him off guard at first, her honey-sweet chuckle even more so. She seemed so submissive before, now she looks upon him with a smile as if the two of them were in on some kind of secret. 

“Do you have a purpose in being here?” He urges her, letting the gritting of his teeth. “Or are you just bored?”

“You seemed awfully eager to challenge me, Lord Julien. I’m wondering why,” She answers, teasing him slightly with a lilt in her tone.

Julien raises his brow. “I told you. I wanted to test your metal,”

“But why? What’s got you so curious about me?”

“Unless the Arisen is another female elf from some backwater farming village...why would I not be curious? Tis you who’s supposed to fell the dragon no? Tis you who’s supposed to stay the coming end by slaying the wyrm that threatens us all. Twas merely the inquiry to see if you could beat me. And you could not,”

A twist of annoyance pulls at her face tensely.“Don't talk as if you won. As though you weren’t just about to keel over from loss of breath!” She sneered and then pointed at him. “We tied,”

“Oh is that how you’re going to slay the wyrm? Make the beast run laps till it falls asleep?!” He chides, laughing. The Arisen forces out a chuckle, a sweet suckle of laughter that makes his chest twinge.

“I don’t know, that’s not the worst idea I’ve heard,” She shrugs.

He raises his brow incredulously at her.

“What? I’m a pretty fast runner when pressed,”

Julien’s smile falters. “Tis no joke ser,” He reminds. “How do you plan to save us all if you cannot win against me?”

She shuffles uncomfortably. Casting her eyes anywhere else except on him.

Julien sighs, frustrated with her silence. He takes a couple of strides towards her. Revelling in how easily he looms over her thanks to his height.  
“You’re no better than me. Therefore, you’re lesser than the dragon. It seems to me that it's not just your people who were thought to be mythical. You’re prowess too,”

Just like before, he inches his face close. Just enough that she can feel his breath lightly on her face, that her whole view is obscured and engulfed by him. She doesn’t waver yet again, keeps herself firmly rooted but he swears her eyes start to ignite like before, like her heart is roaring for a fight. A sadistic twist torrents at his lips, he tilts his head and with a deep, breathy yet sinister voice he says “you’ll doom us all,”

She recoils, pushes against his chest and takes a couple of staggering steps back.  
“I never asked to be the Arisen!” She snaps sourly. ‘Arisen’ pooling from her lips like a curse. “I never asked to be Gransys errand girl! I’m doing the best I can!”

“And your best is no better than mine. Seldom leaves one with confidence when not even the Arisen herself can put you in your place at court. To say I’m disappointed is an understatement,” 

“You think you know me after one battle? You think I give one Maker’s wit about you being disappointed?”

“I know enough. I know that while strong you lack the courage and determination fitting for the legend you and those nobles think you are. I don’t expect you to care about my opinion, though clearly you favour the empty thoughts of nobles with all their pomp and ceremony keeping you cosy when you should be on the frontlines aiding us in our battle,”

“What do you want me to do? Leave? Because believe me I wonder about it near every day,” She mutters.

“Then go! Pray return to your miserable life and forego this children’s fantasy of pretending to be the hero you are clearly not,” He shoos her away.

Silence overtakes them. Her loss for words doesn’t anger nor relieve him. It simply just is. She casts her gaze towards the gate; longingly wondering if she shouldn’t take the Lord’s words to heart and simply walk out this courtyard for good and never look back. 

“Nothing to say?” He goads her. 

Suddenly, she lurches. Grabs him hard by the collar and pulls him down to her level. Julien can do nought but comply at the severity of her actions.

“I’ll prove to you I’m not weak,” She declares; that ignition like the wyrm’s fire blazes gloriously in her eyes once again. So much so Julien almost finds himself hypnotised. Was it an elven trait to have such sinister yet strangely alluring eyes? He cannot know, but he gathers his composure less she grows suspicious as to why he’s not saying anything.

“Tis only possible to prove it to yourself. You’ll convince no one else, Arisen,” He pries her hand away from him. Gripping her wrist and throwing it down as he stands up straight. Makes a show of dusting his collar from where she clutched it. 

“Like I said. You’re a damn fool to believe you have me all figured out from one fight,” And with that, Niruin turns her back on Julien. Ascending the stairs to the castle. Julien watching as the doors close behind her.

She walked with newfound purpose. A determined strut in her step with an expression that could haunt even the foulest of monsters. Julien could almost feel a pang of pride, that his words may have gotten her to reconsider her priorities. Yet, if that were the case it would bode unwell for Salvation and perhaps even himself. 

They would see each other regularly at court; Tis certainly not the last he’ll personally hear from her he wagers...

**Author's Note:**

> I did put a bit of a pun in there yes....


End file.
